


pretty things on their way to us now

by fireflyslove



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Crowley hung the moon and the stars and Az knows it, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, POV Crowley (Good Omens), planetariums
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 13:58:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19442851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireflyslove/pseuds/fireflyslove
Summary: It’s a Tuesday when Aziraphale finds out Crowley doesn’t know what a planetarium is.Or: Crowley hung the moon and the stars and Az knows this





	pretty things on their way to us now

**Author's Note:**

> I just needed Crowley in a planetarium. Vaguely hung on the "Crowley-was-Raphael" headcanon tree.

It’s a Tuesday when Aziraphale finds out Crowley doesn’t know what a planetarium is. 

It’s a Friday when Crowley finds out what a planetarium is.

\- 

Aziraphale has been unusually cagey for the last few days, and when Crowley shows up at the bookshop in the early afternoon on a dreary Friday in February, the angel is nowhere to be found. He drops into his usual chair to wait for Aziraphale to reappear, idly thumbing through the stack of books precariously piled nearby. 

He doesn’t expect the sunglasses to be plucked off his nose by invisible fingers nor a blindfold to wrap itself around his eyes. He can sense Aziraphale’s Presence immediately, the only thing keeping him from lashing out.

“Zira?” he asks cautiously.

“Hello, my dear,” Aziraphale says, “I have a surprise for you.”

“This is a good way to get yourself caught on fire,” Crowley comments.

“You would never,” Aziraphale says, and Crowley’s stomach swoops just a little at how far the angel’s trust goes. 

“It’s your corporation,” Crowley says, the harsh answer snaps out, a defense mechanism before he even thinks about it. He pauses. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale says. “Now stand up, we’re going on a field trip.”

Crowley allows himself to be led through the bookshop and then out through the front door. They get in a car, and by the smell of it, it’s a regular London cab. 

“I can drive, you know,” Crowley says.

“Oh, but that would ruin the surprise,” Aziraphale says, delight coloring his voice. 

They’re both sitting in the backseat, and Aziraphale has moved so close that their bodies are glued together from shoulder to knee. The heat of Aziraphale’s body seeps through the fabric of Crowley’s jeans into his skin. Once a cold-blooded reptile, always a cold-blooded reptile, apparently. 

Strictly speaking, Crowley doesn’t need eyes to see, but he’s in a sporting mood and humors Aziraphale by not using his extrahuman senses to determine their surroundings. 

The cab rolls to a stop, and Aziraphale guides Crowley out of the car. 

“There’s stairs just here,” he says, and Crowley obediently climbs them. If the legions of hell could see this now (and maybe they can, he doesn’t give a flying fuck), a demon blindly following an angel who knows where.

They enter a building, and Crowley can sense the ceiling far above them, a vaulting structure. There’s human conversation everywhere, and Crowley has a guess that Aziraphale is using a bit of Don’t-See-Me to weave through the crowd. Another set of stairs and they enter a much smaller room, the door closing behind them.

They’re alone in this room. Aziraphale guides them to the center of the room, and then urges Crowley to sit on the floor. 

“I’ll be right back,” he says, and his steps retreat across the room. Crowley sits patiently as Aziraphale does something with buttons. He returns momentarily, and tugs at the tie of the blindfold. “Close your eyes, would you, dear?” 

Crowley does so, and the fabric of the blindfold drops away. Aziraphale is still standing over him.

“All right,” Aziraphale says, “you can open them now.”

Crowley opens his eyes, and blinks a few times, taking in his surroundings. They’re in a dark room with some sort of lights on the ceiling. They look oddly familiar and.. 

They…

Are… 

Stars?

Crowley stands, eyes on the ceiling where a faithful map of the sky from London at this time of year has been projected. The detail is incredible, as if Crowley could just reach out and touch the stars.

(He had been able to, once, a long, long time ago)

He reaches up, and somehow, his fingers brush through the points of light. This should be beyond any technology he’s ever seen. Crowley turns a questioning gaze on Aziraphale. “What is this place?”

“This is a planetarium,” Aziraphale says. “I was shocked to learn you’d never heard of them. Humans all over the world build them so they can teach their children about the stars. I, ah, well, I did the bit with the touching, though.”

_ Humans! Beautiful, brilliant humans! _

Aziraphale’s face is spangled with the light of the stars, surrounding his head, giving him a rather pointed halo effect, and it’s more than Crowley can bear. He snatches Aziraphale’s head in his hands and pulls the angel into a kiss. Aziraphale is more than willing to participate, and it’s long moments before they pull apart.

“Thank you,” Crowley says, voice pitched low and rough. 

“Of course, darling,” Aziraphale says, thumb rubbing over Crowley’s cheek. 

They spend the rest of the afternoon in the room of stars, and Crowley nearly cries when he realizes the sky will move, changing the position of the stars. He finds himself telling Aziraphale stories of the creation of  _ this _ star and  _ that _ nebula. It’s more than he’s ever shared with the angel before, and he can sense the point of no return fading farther and farther into the past. 

Even a few years ago, the idea of revealing this depth of himself, beyond the prickly exterior, beyond the demon who just wants to be human, back and back and back to the  _ angel _ he had been, would have been out of the question. 

And Aziraphale. Aziraphale takes it all in without question, snatching glances at Crowley when he thinks Crowley isn’t looking, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. Looking at Crowley like he hung the moon. 

(And hadn’t he?)

They leave, eventually, with promises to the stars to return. 

It’s dark out when they leave, hand in hand, and in London’s light polluted sky, few stars are actually visible. But still. Crowley looks up at the sky. 

And if he hadn’t hung the stars himself, he would’ve sworn that one just  _ winked _ at him. 

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found anywhere a moon is hung @fireflyslove.


End file.
